


If you could only see the beast you've made of me

by friendlystranger1312



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Human/Monster Romance, M/M, Near Death Experiences, POV Eddie Kaspbrak, Werewolf Richie Tozier, Werewolves, Werewolves Turn Into Actual Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:47:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26547016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlystranger1312/pseuds/friendlystranger1312
Summary: He’s thankful, he’s terrified, he’s pained, he’s lost, but he’s saved, by this kind, gentle creature that had every opportunity to hurt him and didn’t. Maybe he should question things more, but exhaustion pulls at him as the beast chases away the cold.In his delirium, he almost thinks he hears it grumble what sounds like huffed ‘sleep’. But that’s insane, even for him.Wolves, of course, can’t talk.AKA Remix ofToucha Toucha Toucha Touch Me by Mere_Mortiferbut it's the scene from Homeward Bound and Richie saves Eddie from freezing in the forest.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 92
Collections: Derry Remixed 2020





	If you could only see the beast you've made of me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mere_Mortifer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mere_Mortifer/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Toucha Toucha Toucha Touch Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24079894) by [Mere_Mortifer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mere_Mortifer/pseuds/Mere_Mortifer). 



“It’s beautiful Eddie, I swear, nature like you’ve never seen it before!” Mike gushes. Even over the choppy signal of his car phone Eddie can taste the pure awe in his voice. But, Mike’s always been the outdoorsy type, fitting perfectly into the scene of a picturesque mountain overlook, green in every direction. In the center, Mike, soft grin truly humbled in witness of nature's quiet majesty. 

Eddie glances in his rear view mirror, the sun only just starting to peak streaks of light across the sky. Rinsing the darkness of the night, into the soft blue tones of dawn. 

“So you’ve been telling me.” It’s not skeptical, but it’s not belief either. Eddie’s never been the type of person to marvel at the beauty of nature. A tree is the same to him, whether in person or in some of those Outdoors Monthly magazines with handsome men on the covers he’d sometimes spend a bit too long lingering on in the pharmacy as a teen. 

His eyes caught by a sight alright, but not the one Mike’s talking his ear off about. 

“You got the map I mailed you, right? Follow the path, but with a slight detour that I swear you’ll thank me for once you see it.”

Eddie glances surreptitiously to his right, his hiking bag and fanny pack resting there holding everything he could possibly think of if he got hurt. 

Of course he has his first aid kit, but those things come with only the bare essentials. He added three extra boxes of band aids, in three different sizes to account for any accidental mishaps of any size or shape, an extra roll of gauze, safety scissors ( _ sterilized _ ), johnson & johnson waterproof tape, isopropyl alcohol 70%, hydroxide, nasal decongestant ( _ for his allergies _ ), advil, tylenol, motrin ( _ for everything else _ ), vitamin b12, vitamin C plus zinc ( _ in elderberry for delicious consumption _ ), omega-3 fatty acids and omega-6, claritin ( _ for if the outside world beyond the concrete forest of New York is really so offensive to his person, he’s allergic just at the sight _ ) and, of course, his inhaler. 

Plus Mike’s map.

Nothing major.

Eddie rolls his eyes, as if he didn’t bring a veritable mobile pharmacy with him and  _ Mike’s _ the worry wart. “ _Yes_ , I got the map. Why you couldn’t just text me everything like a reasonable adult existing in the twenty-first century, however, I’m a little less clear on that.”

Mike sighs, “You’re going into the  _ woods _ , Eddie. You can’t rely on spotty cell service for directions, you probably won’t even get a signal further down the trail.”

“No fucking shit. I’m not going to pull out my smart phone expecting a cell tower ass fuck in the middle of nowhere. Satellite phones exist for a reason, Mikey.”

“Ah, but analog is so much better.”

“If I’m lost, what the hell is a _map_ going to do for me? Help me know just how fucked I am cause the closest landmark is trees as far as the eye can see?”

“Please, Eddie, tell me you brought a compass. Come on, give me some peace of mind here.”

“ _Yes_ , Mike, I brought a damn compass.” He doesn’t tell him it’s on his satellite phone too, or he’s fairly certain Mike will fly in, break the sound barrier driving to him, just to kick his ass. 

“Honestly, this will be good for you Eds. Real good. I learned a lot about myself out there. Nature has a way of putting things in perspective.”

Eddie just snorts, turning off the highway as he follows the mechanical tones of his GPS. 

“Just promise me you’ll be safe, okay?” 

“Did you forget who you were talking to?”

“...Yeah, you’ll be just fine.”

His concern is touching, but really, he’s  _ Eddie Kaspbrak _ for christ sake. The biggest danger he faces on the trail is if it  _ rains _ . And even then, he can just turn back. It’s not like there’s any  _ wolves  _ in upstate New York, and he’s not staying out till dark for coyotes to be an issue. 

He’s more concerned that his efforts to find clarity,  _ alone _ , in the woods will be just as fruitful as finding clarity,  _ alone _ , at home. Mike told him he’d find  _ perspective _ , but Eddie’s not even sure what kind of  _ perspective  _ he’s looking for. 

Still, anything beats the stifling loneliness of his apartment, staring at the walls as if they hold answers he’s not really seeking. A plain blank white, kind of like him, devoid of anything to make him stand out, make him noticed,  _ wanted  _ outside the small group stupid enough to try and convince him it’s more of a eggshell white. 

It’s either this, or therapy next. And considering Eddie would rather drive out into butt-fuck nowhere trapped alone with his thoughts then deal with his emotions in a constructive manner, that should probably say enough about his opinions of dealing with people. 

It’s not as if Eddie hates people, in fact, he’d consider himself rather observant. A people watcher. Introspective, Ben called him. 

He liked to puzzle out what people were thinking, what they were feeling. Keep himself in tune with what they need, but never knowing how to do anything about it. Sometimes he wished he were the type of person that could make people laugh, yuck it up as the laugh of the party drawing people in like little moths to his charismatic flame. 

Ben’s a little like that, with his quiet ‘I can get a beer with him’ kind of charm. Mike too, many times when Eddie’s visited him he’s found someone in easy conversation with Mike that might not have come into the library for more than directions, but found themselves lost in conversation with this charming man ( _ the fact that usually it’s Bill is irrelevant, plenty of complete strangers chat him up too _ ). 

Eddie wants that.  _ Yearns  _ for it, the type of easy communication that comes so natural to his friends. Half the time he feels like a little wooden puppet, marionette on strings as someone else talks for him. 

A fake in his own skin. 

Fuck, isn’t he cheery today. 

He focuses on the road, the easy task of navigation coming to him without a second thought. If he focuses on the motions, he can’t get lost in his thoughts. Keeping in the ‘now’, to distract from the ‘what if’. 

And the ‘now’ is easy. Before he realizes it, he’s arrived, only one other car in the lot besides his own that looks like it’s one harsh wind from falling apart. Not too surprising, it is early still, and not many people take off on forest trails on early Tuesday mornings. 

He gives the other car another once over, scrunching his nose at the clearly messy dash filled with candy wrappers and fast food containers. Not exactly what he’d imagine to be the diet of a regular outdoors man. 

He follows the trail like Mike told him, and just breathes. Letting the soothing hush of the forest caress his senses, only a slight bite to the wind and the leaves just starting to brown as fall creeps in on summer. He’ll give it to Mike, there is something humbling about being here, the loudest company the crunch of his sneakers along the dirt trail. 

The sounds of life around him falling away till it’s only him, his steps, and his breath.  _ Crunch, huff, crunch, huff, crunch, huff _ , lulling him until his frantic thoughts, normally at lightning speed and tumbling into each other, fade into the background. 

It’s not perspective, but it’s an easy peace he relaxes into until his mind lets one thought bush against him, then float past just as easily. It’s not an absence of thought, but it’s an almost meditative trance, owing to the fact that he doesn’t have to try here. The only one to judge him would be the trees, but beyond the rustling and creak of branches, they don’t talk. They don’t impose themselves over him like  _ they  _ know best. They don’t treat him like he can’t do things for himself, a grown man in his thirties. Like he’s delicate and sensitive and  _ really needs to be careful out in these woods Eddie bear _ \- “Fuck!”

A few birds ruffle, taking flight from the trees above. And just like that, so easily, those thoughts creep right back in, the ones he’s trying to ignore, the creeping loneliness of his childhood that clings to him in adulthood like a persistent leach.

And what right does he have to be lonely any way? With friends like his, it’s a goddamn _insult_.

“FUCK!” He hears an animal scuttle away from him in the bush. No ones around to hear him, so who gives a shit if he finally lets loose. Maybe if someone were here, they’d think he’s crazy. Stomping forward, a man on a mission, profanities howling out from some deeply repressed center of his chest. 

“ _FUCK!!!!_ ”

He almost laughs, if it weren’t him doing it. God he hopes no one follows him down the trail. 

Hours, minutes, seconds, he doesn’t check the time he walks until the brush gets a little thicker, and the path a little less kept. If he weren’t studying the ground at the time, watching his feet ( _ one, two, one, two, one two _ ), he might have missed the very overgrown path that forks off the main one. 

Briefly he considers just turning back, while the initial foray into the woods left him at peace, that same gnawing relentless longing eats at him till it’s back. Lurking in his peripherals. It’s not like Mike care’s if he goes or not, but Eddie already said he would, so he sighs and follows it off the trail. 

It’s a challenge getting through, the path in parts so dilapidated that he isn’t sure he’s even following a path, and just a vague hope he’s going the right way. The ground is muddy, probably from a recent rain, but he still grimaces at the schlunk of his shoes with each step. From here, a new sound, rushing water fills the air, heavy and thick. If he didn’t think he’d die of hypothermia from the cold of it, he’d almost debate jumping in. The difficulty of the path causing his layered shirt to stick to his chest. 

Louder and louder the water becomes, it’s easy to find the rushing water, just like Mike said, then follow it east as the rapids pick up. The sounds of the forest behind him drowned out until-

It’s beautiful. 

The water tumbles over the edge into a sheer drop, cascading  _ down, down, down _ into a small depression, off the sheer cliff side. The water laps into a lake that must be deep enough for no river to flow from the lake. It’s heart stopping, teetering high above such natural beauty, the trees of the forest green in every direction. 

Not a hint of man anywhere, just the splendors earth has to offer. 

Mike said it’d give him a new perspective, and maybe it wasn’t quite that, but it made the trip worth it certainly. He shuffles forward carefully, the spray of the waterfall making the ground slippery and muddy, trying to get closer to the edge.

His shoes schlunk further into the mud, and it’s too loud to hear the ground crack beneath him, until it’s already crumbling under him, something giving way to pressure that shouldn’t have been there into a mudslide. Eddie stumbles, trying to back up, but it happens in a second before he can react in one heart stopping moment-

Until there’s no ground beneath him at all. 

His stomach swoops into his chest, thoughts racing faster than before, the angle of his slide pitching him right over the side of the cliff and he thinks everything terrible and everything wonderful all at once trying to grasp at nothing wishing, hoping, _ praying _ -

What did Mike tell him once about cliff diving?  _ Like a pencil Eddie, have to think of yourself as a pencil hitting concrete _ .

Eddie never wanted to live that, but he thinks Mike had it right.

\-----------------

He’s cold, a word he didn’t know could mean more than the frost that nipped his cheeks in winter, safely ensconced under twenty layers of padded cloth, not really in any danger from the elements but still using the word all the same. No, he’s _ cold _ ; a chill sunk deep beneath his skin twining under connective tissue and sinew, piercing his bones. 

Digging into osteoblasts and osteoclasts, then snuggling close to the spongy bone marrow at the center on his being, making his hematopoietic stem cells form frozen blood cells that run through his arteries, slow and _cutting_ with every pulse of his heart. He didn’t know a cold like this could exist, couldn’t _imagine_ it before, and bundled every limb close to his chest desperate for even the illusion of warmth despite them being dull and unfeeling from the ice building on his circulatory system.

Even the thought of warmth is snuffled out by the cold, can’t even fake it like in Ben’s self-help tapes. _Visualize success like you’re on a beach_ , the heat of the sun tickling your cheeks. Oh Eddie feels a burn alright, the sharp pain of what could only be frostnip eating away at his fingertips and the edges of his ears. It’s all he can do to keep himself awake, keep his mind focused from falling into a slumber he isn’t too sure he’ll wake up from. 

He’s shivering, or at least he must be, but his senses have long since gone numb as he braces himself under the little foliage of branches he was able to scrounge together to form a lackluster shelter after dragging himself from the lake, arm throbbing painfully, only lucky it wasn’t  _ worse _ . His fanny pack, useless and still damp strewn on a rock in front of him that he can only vaguely make out as the clouds part for the light of the full moon. His back pack with all his supplies, lost somewhere deep at the bottom of the lake.

He's imagined It, lungs inflamed against the press of his diaphragm, bronchiols hissing passageways of the barest minimum of air. Can even picture the little plastic aspirator fused to his hand right out of the womb, his only tether keeping him alive. His mother seared that on his person the same as a scar. He knew It, from a young age watching his father struggle to breath until he wasn't breathing anymore. 

But, he never imagined It like this. So very _alone_ ; the cold, his company, breath steady strong as ever, and the only source of warmth on each exhale. 

A sharp snap has his eyes dart up, blood sluggishly rushing in his ears meeting eyes shining in the darkness. His skin prickles on top of goosebumps, breath stuttering to a halt as he tries to contain his shivers. 

A form moves, the clouds part, catching on dark fur, and ( _an animal-a dog- no a_ ) monstrously large form of _something_ crouching in the shadows. Eddie scrambles, pressing further against the rough bark at his back, trying to make himself as small as possible in the eyes of a predator. 

Bone white fangs gleam in the moonlight, and Eddie thinks of anything, frantic, desperate, but he's _weak_ , he's _trapped_ , he's _alone_ with _nothing_! 

The creature just _watches_ him.

Cautiously, and with perhaps more intelligence then a creature should, it waits for the cold to eat away at even the panic briefly animating his chilled corpse. No growls, no smashing and snarling of teeth sinking into weak flesh. No signs of attack, only patience. Calm, swimming in twin blue eyes. 

In another place, another time, Eddie would freak out, rant and rave till only his bubbling rage filled him masking the fear truly marionetteing him. He might even scream. But, the cold took that from him too. 

Alone, scared, hurt, angry, tumbling one after the other, ragged throat just managing a strangled "...Please." 

He's not even sure what he's begging for. _Especially_ from an animal that probably sees him as nothing more than a curiosity at best, or _prey_ at worst.

But, he asks anyway. Maybe the last thing he'll ever say, and it's barely a whispered _plea_. 

Heated breath, sharp and acrid, wafts over his face and he should be terrified. He should be _running_ as far as he can, forcing his sluggish limbs to move, broken arm be fucking damned as he flings himself from the literally jaws of danger. But, its warmth, sweet blessed warmth tingling across his cheeks and chin and nose on each exhale of the beast in front of him. 

He gags, the smell repulsive even as he leans closer to the radiator in his face. "...breathes disgusting…" he mumbles. 

Half-delirious he could almost mistake the short huffs of air as chuckling, but he's fairly certain that's his sharp relief as the furred body comes closer to him. He unfurled, letting the giant beast close. Exposing all his vulnerabilities in what's probably the stupidest move short of laughing right at Henry Bowers in fifth grade as he ground his face into asphalt, but Eddie did that too, so what's another on the bucket list! 

But, the monster, because there’s no _way_ this thing could be anything else at the sheer size of it, shuffles closer, bumping it’s snout on Eddie’s head, snuffling curiously. Maybe curiously. Maybe hungrily. Maybe seeing if Eddie smells good enough to  _ eat _ . But he can’t bring himself to care, can’t even muster more than a second's hesitation of clasping an arm around it’s furred neck shuddering at the warmth it emits. The beast's body heat a shock to his near frozen body, flooding his system with delicious molten magma. A sharp relief as he curls into the beast, not caring about anything else but that  _ heat _ .

It whines, huffing, slinging a paw over the shoulder of his good arm, careful with him, more careful than a dog of his size should be and tugs like he wants him closer, and Eddie’s long past caution and sags completely into the matted, dark fur. Headless of germs, or grim, or anything else that could be hiding in the beasts coat because he’s a _furnace_ , a _fire_ , a _burning_ chasing away that cold to the point that he’s almost thankful when he can feel the pulsing pain of his broken arm as sensation floods him. 

The beast nudges him and they lower to the ground, but it’s so much easier for Eddie to bury his face in his fury neck, mumbling about the muck and leaves he can feel in his coat. He’ll probably need three bathes to get it all fucking off. But, it’s also so  _ soft _ and  _ inviting _ and  _ comforting _ . 

He’s thankful, he’s terrified, he’s pained, he’s lost, but he’s  _ saved _ , by this kind, gentle creature that had every opportunity to hurt him and didn’t. Maybe he should question things more, but exhaustion pulls at him as the beast chases away the cold.

In his delirium, he almost thinks he hears it grumble what sounds like a huffed ‘sleep’. But that’s insane, even for him.

Wolves, of course, can’t talk.

Sounds, faint and fading come in and out. He knows he’s being moved,  _ carried _ , by- someone? The soft rumble of their voice lulling him in his fevered daze, comforting. It’s pretty, can voices be pretty?

Eddie thinks they can be. Ben’s voice is warm and smooth, like a blanket, or that first sip of hot chocolate on a cold winter's night. Mike’s is like a narrator, clear and strong, who’s voice carries with it the emotions of a scene.

But _this_ voice, this voice is like a pleasant sonata, simple but unique in its tone and intonations. With ups and downs and highs and lows and every which ways it goes. 

He may be more than just a little out of it, and maybe he should be more concerned. But, he takes a deep breath, and whomever smells like- woods, mud, a touch of sweat ( _ gross, but familiar _ ) and is so very warm he sinks into their hold.

Questioning can be saved for when his arm feels less like an inflated sausage stitched onto his body and more like a limb. 

Maybe he says some of this, because the voice ( _ which is probably a person but the concept of person and voice are really beyond his mental capabilities at the moment _ ) laughs and the sound is deep, with little cute snorts and hiccups jostling him until he hisses in pain from the motion and he keeps it to less disruptive ( _ but equally charming _ ) snickering. 

He blacks out a few times along the way, but more often than not he’s somewhere between bone deep exhaustion keeping eyes closed, and begrudging wakefulness as his conscious sputters to get up beyond five miles per hour. 

Words break through,  _ fever _ ,  _ help _ ,  _ short stack _ ( _ which he takes some offense to, because he’s not  _ **_that_ ** _ short _ ) but most importantly,  _ safe _ . 

And he feels it, from the stranger in the woods. 

He doesn’t know how long it’s been, or even where he is when he comes to. A ceiling fan lazily spinning as he blinks the blur out of his vision. He hears water running, a shower this time. Water at a reasonable volume, not the  _ rushing, crashing, cascading _ \- it shuts off. 

Eddie groans, squeezing his eyes shut, before opening them again, staining to take in more. The bed is soft, not overall plush. The furniture is plain and non discrepant with a little TV on the night stand across the two beds. A sign on the desk to the dressers right in cursive script reads, ‘ _ Please, no smoking _ ’ despite the ashtray almost overflowing with them right next to it. 

He shifts, a sharp pain in his arm reminding him it might be broken. He lifts his other, tossing the blankets to the side, and to his surprise it’s already encased in a sling, still angry and swollen, but carefully arranged to cause him the least pain. He tries to wiggle his fingers, and mostly succeeds despite the pain, so it can’t be too bad. 

He remembers falling, the cold, that bitter _fucking_ cold, and the beast helping him, but how did he get _here_?

He remembers being carried, a rescue? But, why wouldn’t they take him to a hospital? 

With a sinking realization he wonders if he’s been kidnapped. If some crazy fucking woods-person found him and took him and now his, uh, fucking  _ organs  _ are going to be harvested and sold on the black market and he won’t even be able to tell Mike nature can go  _ fuck it self _ after all his trouble. 

He struggles to sit up, muscles and bone protesting the movement in unison, right as the door opens to reveal his would be captor. 

He startles, seeing Eddie sitting up and awake, and before he can breathe a word, Eddie darts up. Struggling against the admittedly tight cocoon of sheets, he rushes to the only thing his exhausted, depleted mind thinks is a good weapon, grabbing it from the desk. 

Then whipping around at his kidnapper/possible rescuer wielding the ‘Please, don’t smoke!’ sign like a knight's sword. He huffs harshly from the adrenaline it took to even _move_ right now, but Eddie’s nothing if not a fighter and like  _ fuck  _ he’s going to survive falling off a literal  _ cliff  _ only to die  _ now  _ at the hands of this scruffy, too tall, hairy chested, broad shouldered,  _ beatnik _ !

“Alright asshole, you’ve got maybe ten seconds to tell me what the  _ fuck  _ is going on and where the  _ hell  _ I am before I introduce this plastic to the inside of your  _ skull _ !”

And the guy,  _ this guy _ , he  _ laughs at him _ ! Not a tiny laugh, no, a full bodied  _ chortle  _ with snorting and shaking shoulders and high hiccups and it shouldn’t be attractive and this guy  _ kidnapped  _ him so  _ why the fuck is he laughing right now _ ? 

The guy takes a few calming breaths, clearly trying to calm himself, but one look at Eddie, swimming in an over-sized yellow button up with red crosses ( _ that must belong to the other guy because my fucking  _ **_god_ ** _ is he swimming in it _ ), and boxer shorts just barely hanging on to his narrow hips shaking a tiny plastic sign, with a  _ goddamn broken arm _ \- alright, so it’s a  _ little  _ hysterical, but Eddie’s fighting for his life here and he won’t have this jackass laugh at him for it!

“Wait, w-wait, fuck, ha, holy shit, fucking  _ christ  _ short-stack, please, sit down before you hurt yourself, or me. Namely my lungs here, because I have  _ never _ laughed so hard in my  _ life _ , seriously, you’re a genius comedian, and I’ll want to get your autograph after this.”

Eddie growls winding the little sign back to chuck at his fat fucking head.

“Shit, calm _down_ spit fire, seriously, you can nail me after.” And this-this  _ dick  _ this absolute embodiment of the textbook definition of a  _ dillweed _ , he  _ winks  _ at him.

Eddie’s gonna kill him. 

He takes a few, much needed, calming breaths and cautiously sits down on the edge of the bed. Only because his legs feel like jello and if he needs to run he’d rather be as rested as possible first.

“Where are we, a hotel? Why the fuck would you take me to a hotel instead of a fucking hospital?”

The man at least has the decency to look sheepish, awkwardly scratching at his chin ( _ a nervous tick _ ). 

“See, I would have, but hospitals are kinda-” He makes a waving hand gesture grimacing. Which almost makes Eddie want to kick his shin, but he’s been feeling like that since the guy opened his mouth. “-not my thing, basically. Yeah. And it’s not like you  _ needed  _ it, it’s not broken, just sprained. A bad one, but you’ll be fine if you don’t move it too much.”

“ _ Not your _ \- what if I had been severely injured, what if I needed immediate medical attention, what if I went into shock from hypothermia! What if I  _ had  _ hypothermia! I was in the middle of goddamn  _ nowhere  _ after falling off a cliff! Drop me off at the door and run if hospitals aren’t ‘your thing’ then!”

“You’re fine, I worked as an EMT before-” the words catch like he’s trying to say them, but he can’t. “Well, I know a thing or two. You got really lucky I found you, I was planning on staying out there for awhile and had to cut it short. You're welcome for that, by the way.”

“ _ Fuck _ Mike’s going to be so goddamn worried I didn’t call him! Did you remember to grab my fanny pack? My phone was water logged when I tried it last, but maybe if we get it in rice I can try and salvage it and-”

Eddie jumps, not even realizing he’d been so tense and focused, until Richie snaps his fingers in his face. “Hey, chill out short-stack. I got your stuff, but the phone’s fucked. There’s a phone here, you can call your friend and then I can take you back to your car to meet up with them. Don’t sweat the tiny stuff and  _ relax _ , before you get a brain aneurysm and all my efforts to save you go down the shitter.”

Eddie huffs, shoulders hunching from his raised straight backed position. “...Thank you.” And he means it. Despite his grossing, if it weren’t for this man and that dog- the dog!

“Did you see-well maybe a wolf, but not a normal wolf, a big dog maybe? Anyway, it helped me, I wanted-” to thank it? A dog wouldn’t understand a thank you. Maybe a treat, a home? What do you do for an animal, let alone a person? “-wanted to know. It’s...how I survived.”

They’re silent after that, but it’s not uncomfortable. A content silence, each ruminating in their thoughts, gathering themselves. Eddie still can’t believe it, when he thinks about everything. And the man who helped him, as annoying as he is, makes his thoughts static out anytime his eyes glance at his open shirt, chest hair leading down into a happy trail of coarse curls arching over the slight pudge of his belly into long sleep pants. Legs spread, Eddie can clearly make out the outline of his limp dick and almost can’t believe the  _ size  _ of him.  _ Fuck _ .

The set of his shoulders broad, his muscles twitching in his arms as he leans on his knees studying the carpet in thought. Eddie licks his lips, and smothers the want nipping at his heels.

“Eddie Kaspbrak.”

The other man starts, but quickly recovers smiling a crooked, wolfish smile, all teeth. “Richie Tozier is the name, saving damsels is my game.”

“I’m not a damsel, asshole, I just needed help in that  _ specific  _ moment.”

Richie purses his lips assessing Eddie with a slow glance up and down. The sharp look in his eyes, predatory almost, lights a fire in his gut simmering his blood in a low boil. “Dunno, you’re small enough to be a damsel.” 

“What does my height have anything to do with it? And I’m  _ average _ , thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome!” 

Eddie can’t help it, he snorts, trying to choke back his laugh but it’s out before he can stop it. 

Richie practically chirps as he says it, perking up like an excited puppy and it’s so sarcastic all at once. He plays with the hem of the shirt he’s wearing, using the excuse to keep his eyes off Richie, even though it does nothing to cool the heated blush creeping along his neck he’s refusing to acknowledge. 

“Wait, did you change me?” He knows the answers yes, he’s in completely different clothes that practically swamp him. But, that means Richie saw every inch of his skin, saw him open and vulnerable and he’s swallowing a lump in his throat that has nothing to do with embarrassment. 

Richie at least looks slightly coyed. “Sorry, you kept mumbling about how my breath stinks even as you clung to me, and that I needed at least three baths to get the muck off. Which was true. So, I figured you’d want to be in clean clothes.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but he helped him, carried him,  _ saved  _ him. 

If Eddie were the type to cry, there would be tears in his eyes, the reality of everything hitting him in that moment making him  _ shake _ . He clenches his fist, releasing a shuddering breath, the terror of the night ebbing out of his body. 

The bed dips next to him, Richie quick to wrap an arm around him, pulling him close and Eddie  _ wants  _ to jerk away ( _ savior or not, he’s still a stranger, he shouldn’t trust this person _ ), but he’s so fucking  _ warm _ . He can’t help leaning into him, tense muscles turning to putty as he runs his nails slowly up and down Eddie’s back. He presses his face into Eddie’s hair, breathing deeply, like he’s smelling him, and hums a soothing note low in his throat.

His heat fills Eddie everywhere their bodies touch, his good arm squished up against Richie’s chest. Eddie’s fingers twitch, and the boiling in his blood practically spills over with the desire to run his hands across it. Trailing through his chest hair, and down the sides of his body, gripping his hips and tugging him impossibly closer. Richie’s so close, if Eddie tilted his head up, that hot breath fanning across his scalp would be right in his face, and he could look into his blue, blue eyes like deep pools of water and see them darken, pupils widening as his breath quickens. 

That gaze piercing a hole in Eddie’s composure, as chapped lips _so_ fucking tempting lean close to his. With a sharp tingle down his spine, Eddie wonders what he tastes like, what he’d feel like, how he’d react. 

Would he be soft, lips gentle pressing into his, savoring every slide and hinted taste. Or would be _rough_ , like a beast unleashed, practically mauling Eddie’s mouth to chase every corner of it in a wet slide of lips and tongue. The scruff of his beard dragging harshly against him, pricking in it’s burn, but Eddie only presses into it, wants this man to take more and more. To devour him, as need and want yank and pull until he’s in the other mans lap with those fucking hairy knuckled  _ hands _ grabbing and feeling every part of him. Yanking the back of his thighs with a forceful, near bruising grip to get him closer, the other at the back of his neck. His whole hand would engulf it, keeping him from moving back, but moving away would be the  _ last  _ thing on Eddie’s mind. 

No, it’d be that _cock_ , half hard already grinding against his ass leaving very little to the imagination. _God_ , Richie’s fucking hairy everywhere, he’s probably got thick, curly hairs right at the base of his dick, and big, heavy hairy balls too. Eddie feels his dick  _ throb  _ wanting to get his mouth on the other man, lick a strip, base to tip, the coarse hair trailing on his tongue. Richie insistently pressing his dick to his lips-

Richie chuckling spins his mind back to the present and he’s all too aware of  _ everything _ , his nerve endings tingling where Richie’s fingers curl up lightly scratching at the back of his neck. “Damn, if I knew picking up hot men in the woods is all it took to get laid, well- actually I don’t have a way to finish that, because I don’t usually find ridiculously attractive guys out there.”

Eddie’s mortified, because  _ how does he fucking know how badly Eddie wants him _ , shifting his legs to try and squash down his half-hard erection, wincing when he just pinches his balls shifting. 

“Fuck you, you might of helped me, but that doesn’t mean I won’t shove you off this bed Sasquatch.”

He giggles, taking Eddie as seriously as one would a particularly fluffed kitten, and trails his hand up to run through the soft hairs at the back of Eddie’s scalp. Eddie chances a glance down ( _ curiosity, wanting, hoping, lust- all things he tampers down but which surge through him nonetheless _ ), and his mouth goes dry at the tent Richie’s baggy pants do  _ nothing  _ to hide. 

Richie keeps laughing and Eddie wants to smack him. With his mouth. On the lips. Then maybe on the dick too so he’s too busy making other sounds to laugh at him. 

“Oh, Eds, believe me, I’d love for some fucking to happen, but we gotta be responsible adults here, I don’t even have condoms on me.”

Eddie jerks back scowling up at him, ignoring the jolt that goes through him because  _ barebacking _ . “You’re such an asshole! And don’t call me that, we’re not friends. You might have carried me out of the forest, but it doesn’t mean I want to  _ know  _ you. And stop  _ hugging  _ me.”

“Eds,” He says again with a teasing tone completely ignoring what he asked, “Eddie Spaghetti, Ed-head. You didn’t seem to have any problem with hugging when you were clinging to me last night. Bundled all close against me, I’d shift and you’d tighten around me like a really insistent boa constrictor.”

“I didn’t _cling_ to you! What the fuck are you talking about, a  _ dog  _ found me last night. Not  _ your  _ mangy ass.”

He grimes wolfishly at him, unnaturally sharp canine’s on full display as he leans into his face. And if Eddie weren’t looking at him, he might miss it, the growing of black fur across the sides of his face, muscles straining in his face turning his features near  _ beastly  _ in a matter of seconds. It’s not a full transformation, but enough to stop Eddie’s thoughts in their tracks as everything grinds to a halt.

His voice, near a growl, rough with vocal cords strangled between man and beast, “ _ You sure about that, Eds _ ?”

A spike of lust has his dick twitch at the sound, and mother  _ fucker  _ that should not be as sexy as it is. “That’s- that’s impossible,  _ you’re _ impossible, what- you shouldn’t even-”

Eddie should be scared, should be terrified in the face of what shouldn’t be real. Shouldn’t even  _ exist _ . He should run, run like the devils on his heels, run before it’s too late.

But, he’s not scared, and it’s too late to run because-  _ because _ -

Richie leans close to his ear. The heat of his breath sends tingles down his spine as it caresses the sensitive outer shell. “ _ I can smell your wanting _ .”

All at once he feels like he’s falling all over again. His gut swooping out from under him, breath caught in his throat because even if he couldn’t smell him, Eddie’s been at half-mast for most of it. But that  _ voice _ , it sends shivers down his spine at how animalistic,  _ predatory  _ it is. His cock throbs, Richie could take him at any moment, but he  _ doesn’t _ . He  _ waits,  _ hungry beast inside of him leashed, wanting  _ Eddie  _ to make the first move. 

Eddie’s wanted before, he’s craved, he’s fucked, he’s maybe even thought he loved. But none of it,  _ none of it _ compares to right now staring into the hungry, craving eyes of a monster. 

He gained a new perspective alright, but maybe not in the way Mike envisioned, or in the way he thought he’d connect to someone.

It wasn’t a grand mental debate, but a moment, a click in his mind nearly as audible as the clack of Richie’s sharp teeth. 

If his jaw is a little bit sore later when he finally calls Mike to let him know he’s alright, well, that’s between him and Richie and all the other new  _ perspectives  _ they’ll discover together.

Preferably some less hard on his knees.


End file.
